April Fool
by LittlePippin76
Summary: April Fool's Day.


**Disclaimer, I don't own these characters, no money being made, so on and so forth.**

* * *

Sherlock staggered downstairs having slept through most of the morning. He headed towards the kitchen and put the kettle on. He reached for the tea-caddy and opened the lid.

There was a sudden explosion of teabags and something big and odd erupting from the tin and he screamed.

After a moment he calmed himself and looked at the mess in the kitchen. He looked towards the stairs. "John!" he bellowed. "John!"

He heard John's light footsteps as he left the room and ran down the stairs. John stopped half way and spoke over the bannister. "Oh, you're up then. Everything OK?"

"What the hell did you do to the tea?"

"I didn't do anything to the tea, Sherlock. You know me; tea is sacrosanct. I'd never do anything to the tea."

"What, the hell..." Sherlock ducked to pick up the big and odd object. "Is this?"

It was a wide spring, over which one of Sherlock's socks had been loosely pulled. A pair of googly eyes had been stuck on top.

"It's quite clearly a snake, Sherlock."

"Why did you make a snake and put it in the tea, John?"

"I have no idea how that got there at all. Sorry, I can't help you, you'll have to look for clues all by yourself. If you're making tea, I'd love one."

He walked down the rest of the stairs and went to sit on the sofa.

oOo

John was engrossed in the newspaper, ignoring the tea-bags that were still all over the kitchen floor.

Sherlock had stomped about the flat for a bit before sitting down in a huff at his computer. John had recognised the look that Sherlock got on his face when he'd found something intriguing, and had left Sherlock to it. He kept half an eye on him though.

Following several periods of templing his fingers and staring at the wall, Sherlock's faced changed ever so slightly and he rushed to grab the Atlas from the bookshelf. As he opened it, a cascade of spiders fell out of it. He squealed, leapt up on an armchair and flung the book across the room.

John peered over his newspaper. "You all right there?"

Sherlock looked over at him, still panting with shock. "What the hell?"

John put his paper down. "Sherlock, is it possible that you're scared of spiders?"

"No, don't be ridiculous." He peered at the spiders on the floor. "Especially not plastic ones. Why did you do that, John? Why did you put plastic spiders in my Atlas?" He sounded hurt.

"I didn't. I have no clue how they got there."

"John, what's wrong with you? Did you hit your head or something? Why are you acting like a school-child, then lying about it?"

John sighed. He found his resolve was weakening, and he felt sorry for his friend. His brilliant yet stupid friend. "Sorry, Sherlock. I was just in the mood to mess around today. Sorry. I'll help you clean up the spiders." He got up and started picking them up. Sherlock calmed down and got down from the chair. "Besides, I wouldn't want you to come across the two live ones."

Sherlock leapt back onto the chair. John sniggered.

oOo

"John! John!" Sherlock stamped towards the front room. "John! I'm blue!"

John looked up from his computer. "So you are. You're also naked and dripping on the floor."

"But I'm _blue!_"

"Yes. You are indeed blue. Well observed."

"John, _why_ am I _blue?_"

"Well, if I was to hazard a guess, I'd suggest that someone put some blue powder paint into your shower gel."

Sherlock stood there and stared at him. And dripped. "John, I just... I just don't understand this. What is this about? What have I done? Is this because I didn't clean the kitchen that time? Or in fact, ever?"

"No, no, I just felt like messing with you a bit. Use my shower gel, it'll clean straight off. And put some clothes on."

"Is there anything else that you've done? I mean, is this it, or do I have to spend the rest of my life living in fear?"

"No, no. Sorry Sherlock. I just wanted to mess with you, and did these things. The tea, the spiders, the blue paint. That's all. I promise."

Sherlock sniffed and headed back to the shower.

oOo

"John! JOHN! It is _not_ funny to put cling film over the toilet bowl. It isn't funny, it's _juvenile!_"

"It is a _bit_ funny, Sherlock!"

oOo

Sherlock spent the rest of the day wary and moving things tentatively. He made a point of not talking to John. By the evening, he was beginning to calm down. They ended the day sat next to each other on the sofa, watching the late news.

"What I don't understand," Sherlock said, "is how you knew I was going to look at the Atlas."

"Oh, that. Well, I sent the email about the bird and I knew that you'd need to look at the Atlas when you got to the whole 'could it be Nicaragua' part."

"Oh. That's actually quite clever."

"Thanks."

"It doesn't negate the fact that the whole scheme was utterly ridiculous."

"OK then."

"Oh, and you owe me money."

"Why?"

"Well, I solved your case."

"But it was a made up case!"

"Well, if you'd have told me that, I wouldn't have bothered spending my valuable time on it, would I?"

"Hmm. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not paying you money."

"You're utterly immoral sometimes."

"Yeah. You like that about me though."

Sherlock smiled. John was right. He did.

"I'm heading up," John told him, getting up and stretching. "Good night."

"Good night."

Sherlock listened as John climbed back up the stairs and went to his room. He heard the door open.

"Sherlock!" John bellowed.

Sherlock grinned. He walked up to John's room.

"What the hell did you do!" John asked him.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"OK, Sherlock, if you're going to prank someone anonymously, it's best not to spray-paint 'April 1st is utterly pointless' on someone's wall, then sign it 'SH'."

"Really? Could be some other SH. You don't know it's me."

"Mrs Hudson is going to kill you."

"I'll tell her you started it. Besides, she likes me best."

"No she doesn't. Where did you get the silly string?"

Silly string covered every surface in John's room. It hung in trails from his light and from his wardrobe doors.

"I have my sources."

"So it _was _you!"

"Yes, well done, John."

"The socks are... well, I'm torn between 'inspired' and 'utterly crazy'."

John's sock draw had been emptied. The balls of socks had been opened and one of each pair was lying as part of a neat, square formation on the floor. Next to each sock, it's twin had been placed in a cup or glass, or in one case, jam-jar of water.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to go with 'crazy'." John said.

"Well, I think I've proved my point."

"You have a point?"

"Yes, it boils down to this: I win. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock wandered into his room and pulled back the duvet. His scream was loud and piercing.

"John! John there's a... a... frog! A live frog in my bed! It's eating the tripe! The tripe that's in my _bed! _The tripe that's next to the... that's a _heart!"_

John stuck his head round the door. "Yeah. What are the words I'm looking for? What was it? Oh yeah: I win! Goodnight, Sherlock."


End file.
